.
“I made a terrible mistake when I agreed to marry your son.” Mena wiped at the tears that ran down her cheeks as she sat in the Marchioness of Durham’s blue room, a color had would have been lovely if it was more broken up in the space. Instead, the hard blue seemed to make the room colder. “I can’t marry him. I’m sorry.”
Lady Durham sat beside her, stiff as a rod and spoke with an impassive tone. “That’s impossible. You gave me your word. All of London has been invited to the party. If you back out now, then you will never marry. No man will ever want you. They’ll blame you for the arrangement coming to an end and shun you.”
“I don’t care.” Mena looked at her and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I simply cannot abide to live with that man.”
“You don’t have to live with him,” the marchioness said. “Some married couples don’t. Once you give him an heir, you may go on your way.”
Mena shivered at the thought of the Marquess of Durham putting his hands on her. She’d seen the blatant hate in his eyes and knew that he if laid a single finger on her, it would be in disgust. During her teary ride to the Durham mansion, she’d tried to recall what she could have done to bring on such a strong dislike. They’d never met before, not that she could remember.
And if they had, surely, she would have recalled a face like his. When she’d turned around in the foyer to greet him, Mena had been awed by his beauty. He was beyond words. Handsome and tall. He had many of the same features as his mother, a full mouth, slanted cheekbones, and a straight prominent nose.
But then his expression had changed, and Mena had wanted to flee.
She should have left right after his expression became hard but believing her surprise visit had simply not been well received, she’d planned on finding a way to calm him and reassure him that she had no plans to interfere in his company.
Yet, what had transpired between them would remain burned in her mind forever. Never had anyone treated her that way. Never. She felt as though he’d ripped her apart and exposed her body to the wind and elements, leaving her flesh to grow cold.
She wrapped her arms around herself, and she recalled every word.
That was the man who’d asked for her hand, the man who wished to be tied to her forever, and she’d accepted without ever meeting him.
It was what she deserved. She’d been a fool to think any measure of happiness would be returned to her after her parents’ deaths. She was alone in the world and would be alone in her marriage.
She was used to being alone, really. After her mother died, while her father had loved her, he’d been a very busy man, so Philomena had spent many hours inside her own mind. In her mind, she was safe. She could be anyone and go anywhere and once her father died and she was sent to Hanover, where very few spoke English, it grew worse. She’d become her own best friend until she’d conquered the German language and made friends. Still, she enjoyed being in her head. Even now, she imagined the day Lady Durham had asked her to marry her son. In her mind, Mena gave a polite ‘no’ and nothing about the few months had changed except for what happened today.
If she never saw the Marquess of Durham again, she would count her curse broken.
“I gave my husband two sons,” the marchioness was saying. She’d been talking while Mena had been in her head, and she had no clue what the woman had said before that last statement. “From what you’ve told me, I would say my son is right,” Lady Durham said. “You should have left him alone.”
Mena gasped. “But he’s my fiancé.”
The marchioness frowned. “Haven’t you heard a word I said?”
No.
Mena deflated in herself and wished she could simply fall asleep and never get up. She had such wonderful dreams. Oh, yes, her mind was a beautiful place.
Loud footsteps rung out in the hall. Mena turned, expecting to see the footman.
She did, but then she saw him.
Mena stood and all but ran to the other side of the room, wiping frantically at her face and looking for a way out. She glanced out the window and then back at the marquess.
He stood in the doorway with his gaze set on her, his expression unreadable, but from what she now knew of him, he could smile, and she’d run. She felt herself on the verge of weeping again but shut her eyes to stop it from happening. She would not cry in front of him. In fact, she feared for her safety. She didn’t know how far his cruelty extended or if he would grow physical, but she would not give him any more of her emotions.
She would not cry.
She would retreat in her head.
In her mind, she was strong, and he was nothing of importance to her. Just a man. Not even handsome. Not a marquess. Just a man.
She opened her eyes, and it was real.
Just a man.
“Lady Philomena tells me that you met,” his mother said. “I told her how foolish it was for her to go looking for you.”
Mena pressed herself farther into the wall, no longer feeling safe with either Durham.
“No.” The marquess looked at the floor before meeting Mena’s eyes again. “I was the one in the wrong. I mistreated her, and I’m sorry.” His gaze all but burrowed into her from across the room.
She looked away.
Sorry?
She didn’t understand him. Why was he apologizing to her?
“Give us a moment, Mother,” his lordship said.
She heard the sound of footsteps and looked up just in time to see the footman close the door behind Lady’s Durham’s retreating figure.
Her eyes went wide when she realized they were alone.
The marquess made a step toward her.
“Stop.” She lifted her hands.
He kept coming like she’d not spoken. “Lady Philomena, you have my most sincere apologies. Had I known who you were, I never would have spoken to you that way.”
She frowned and moved to place the grand piano between them. “Stop coming toward me. And what do you mean, you didn’t know who I was?” When he started around the piano, completely ignoring her words, she kept moving. “You knew who I was. You called me Lady Philomena.”
His unhurried steps seemed like that of a predator. He filled in space faster than she could make it. “I knew who you were, I simply didn’t know you were my fiancée.”
She stilled then jumped and started moving again, this time circling the long couch. “What do you mean you didn’t know I was your fiancée? You proposed to me.”
He lifted a brow, his expression more relaxed than she’d seen it all day. He looked less dangerous now, though he was still chasing her, and she had no plans to stop moving. “No, I think my mother did on my behalf.” He narrowed his eyes again, returning to the man she was familiar with. “How did you arrange it?”
Mena thought as she moved, cutting across the room. “I arranged nothing and the only reason I am here is to see to its end. I want nothing to do with you.”
“So, my mother chose you without any aid?” He sounded as though he were right behind her.
She turned and had to cover her mouth from letting out a scream. He was right here. She lifted her hands but avoided touching him as she backed herself into a corner. “Stop. Don’t touch me!”
He finally stopped and frowned. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was close enough to her to see his irises clear enough to notice the gold ring around his pupils. His eyes weren’t completely like his mother’s. He probably wouldn’t hurt her now, but he surely would have hurt her at the docks. She knew it. She’d seen it in his eyes. That amount of hate could not be hidden.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she told him. “I won’t marry you.”
His expression cleared. “You have to. You’re my mother’s choice. I must marry you.”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about and didn’t care to know. “Have your mother choose another, but I won’t marry you. Ever.” She’d die first. Surely if she married him, she would never be happy again.